David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

Reen stood in the doorway to his home, staring up at the golden star that was Avlimar.

“Close the door,” Tracy, his wife, said from her seat by their small fire pit. “You’re letting in a chill.”

“Feels good,” he lied. His eyes scanned the sky. The moon was waning, but the stars were full, and across that somber tapestry he watched the shadows of angels flying in all directions, numbering in the thousands. The whole city was abuzz with news of the meeting, though Reen did not know what to make of the rumors. Too many contradicted each other. Too many were so outlandish as to be horrifying.

“Don’t feel good to me,” Tracy said, lifting a thin blanket off the floor beside her and draping it over her arms. “Go out for a walk if you need some air.”

Reen grunted.

“Not safe,” he said, closing the door.

His wife said nothing, only accepted the excuse. He could tell she knew something was wrong, but if he wasn’t going to explain, she wasn’t going to press him. She was good like that, better than Reen deserved. There’d been many nights he’d freely walked the streets, a long dagger hidden in his pants. When the alcohol had really been in his blood, he’d hoped men would accost him, just so he could take their coin after they lay bleeding in the street.

But that was another time, another man.

“What did you hear from the other women?” Reen asked, deciding he might as well bring his worries out into the open. Tracy frowned at him. She worked with the servants in the castle, one of the few that didn’t sleep there due to Reen owning his own property. The quartermasters ran her ragged, but even amid the hectic pace her work required, Reen knew she talked with the other servants. If there was ever a place where rumors of the angels would spread, it’d be the castle.

“Nothing I’d believe,” Tracy said.

Reen leaned his back against the door and crossed his arms.

“Humor me.”

“The angels had a big meeting with farmers and old men from the outer lands. Most are saying it was just so people could let off steam. Nothing’s going to change.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Reen said.

Tracy gave him an exasperated look.

“If you heard more, then why are you asking about my rumors instead of telling me what’s bothering you?”

Reen grunted.

“Was hoping you knew more than me, that’s all. The men at the tavern are saying the angels are thinking of executing all murderers and rapists, regardless of their confessions.”

Tracy’s face darkened. The subtle fear he saw was like a dull knife stabbing into Reen’s belly.

“I thought you weren’t going to taverns anymore.”

“I didn’t drink anything,” Reen said, raising his hands. “Honest.”

Tracy settled back into her chair, but the fear still lingered. Reen thought of how he’d been when he came home those many nights. He never laid a hand on her, hardly even yelled at her, but no matter how hard she pretended not to, he knew she saw the blood on his clothes. How else would the stains be gone the next morning? How late did she stay up trying to hide the proof of his sins? The guilt was heavy, unrelenting ever since he started his two years of sobriety. Ever since he killed his friend, Charles.

Ever since the angels.

He hadn’t meant to, of course. It’s not like he was ever fully in control during those nights. Charles had said something to him, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he dreamed of that moment, Reen never remembered what it was his friend had said. A bawdy joke, perhaps? A jovial insult? It didn’t matter. Something about it had set off Reen’s temper, and he’d struck his friend in the stomach with all of his drunken might. They’d both come home bruised and bloody on multiple occasions, but something about the location of his fist, the way Charles’s body had been unprepared, came together just perfectly. Charles had lost his balance, and within moments he’d begun to vomit blood.

It didn’t take long for the angel to come. In his stupor, Reen never even learned the angel’s name, but he knew the reason he was there. The sword on the angel’s back had been more than enough. There’d been dozens of witnesses, no need for Reen to confess, no real mystery to the trial. Charles had lain before him, for Reen had not left his side, not even when his friend’s body had begun to turn cold. Something about the angel, the understanding in his voice, the compassion in his eyes, left him feeling naked. He confessed to it all, and not just Charles. His drunkenness, his greed, his willingness to kill and maim. Feeling so lost, so afraid, he’d bowed his head and waited for the blade to hit.

But it hadn’t.

“I think your old friends at the tavern are too drunk to think straight,” Tracy said, pulling him from his memories. “Ashhur wouldn’t let his angels do that. It goes against everything he teaches.”

“Perhaps,” Reen said, joining his wife before the fire pit. “But I don’t see Ashhur around to stop them.”

Tracy reached out and grabbed his hand, kissed his rough fingers.

“Go to bed,” she said. “You’ll be up far earlier than I.”

Before Reen could answer he heard a sound he immediately recognized. It’d haunted his dreams for months, encapsulating everything about that horrible, broken moment when Charles had breathed his last breath, gagging on his own blood. It was the heavy sound of angel wings. And just like then, he felt his blood freeze.

“Reen Sanderson, come forth,” called a voice from beyond the door.

Tracy leapt out of her chair, clutching her blanket to her chest as if it might protect her.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “You aren’t right. Reen, you can’t be…”

He kissed her, then went to the door. When he opened it he found three angels waiting for him. For the moment their weapons were sheathed, and he prayed that was a sign.

“Yes?” he asked them.

“Our council has convened,” the middle one said. Reen noticed the angel refused to meet his eyes, instead looking slightly upward. “We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted.”

“Don’t give me that,” Reen said. “Tell me why you’re at my door this late an hour. Let me hear it in plain speech.”

“Plain speech?” said the first angel. “So be it. Your sentence of murder is no longer stayed. Please step forward, and let us carry out justice.”

From behind him he heard Tracy make the faintest of cries. In truth, he wasn’t taking it much better. His legs felt weak, and it was only because he held the door that his hands were not shaking.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“That’s not why we’re here,” the middle angel said. “Step outside, Reen.”

“You forgave him!” Tracy shouted, her stupor broken. She rushed to Reen’s side, clutching his arm as if to never let him go. “You can’t do this, you can’t. This is what I prayed for all those years. Don’t you see, he’s not the same. He’s not the same!”

Reen saw the determination in the angels’ eyes and knew there would be no salvation for him, not this time. With a firm hand he pushed his wife away, holding her wrists to keep her from striking him. As she cried, he kissed her forehead, then stepped out of his home and into the street.

The commotion had woken many of his neighbors, assuming they’d even been sleeping in the first place. Doors opened, and eyes peered out from windows. None dared ask what was going on. Reen walked forward, into the middle of the three angels. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. His heart pounded, and he almost laughed as he felt an insane desire for a drink.